


Forever Is Never Forever; Always Yours, Wherever, Whenever

by Nasyat



Category: Cuphead (Video Game)
Genre: A Dodgy Fella But Not A Bad One, Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bruises, Fist Fights, Impulsivity, M/M, Older Characters, Rare Pairings, Redeemed King Dice, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2019-03-11 02:44:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13515048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nasyat/pseuds/Nasyat
Summary: In the wake of a new Sun, the old essence floats up, like the dried-out flower bulb blooming in the hot water of a glass teapot.Dice, rescued from the Devil’s scorching grip, lives with the little tea-things family now. He gets into fights with the hostile inhabitants of the Ink Isle as well - they never quite forgot what he did. Elder Kettle, on the other hand, hasn’t forgotten something either.King Dice, lest he be a complete fool, should use the second chance he was granted; wisely, this time.





	Forever Is Never Forever; Always Yours, Wherever, Whenever

Dice hissed, bandage slipping off his battered knuckles. Elder Kettle just held his shaking hands patiently, and treated the injury himself.

Since the day he was ‘exempted’, Dice acted more and more temerarious, short-tempered. He was no longer expressly polite with the townsfolk - there was no need for that now, no contract to restrain him (just as there was no longer an obligation to be dastardly, or leering, or complaisant); in fact, Elder Kettle still remembered how hot-headed the other has been in his youthful years.

‘ _ **Hey, Mr. Kettle! Wanna play a race game? I made it myself, ‘bet I’ll win!** ’ Uppity laughter, bouncy gait. He has always been a dodgy fella; not a bad one, though._

This was a second fight in a week. A personal record of sorts. Dice was not good at melee, has never been; his age and lack of practice didn’t give him a pas, either. Yet he persisted, rushing in, swinging fists, whenever anyone even mentioned...

‘ _ **He tried to, to take advantage of me!..** ’_

_Dice couldn’t take it anymore._

_‘ **I am not a sodomist!** ’_

_He has never ‘ **been** ’ with a man. He actually quite fancied the ladies, and ladies reciprocated, giggling and coloring up happily._

The ones Dice dealt with the worst were the innuendos. Dirty hints, or the assumptions about the shadiness of his current, or former positions. Dealing with the Devil (especially the way he did) tarnished you for the rest of your life, no matter whether you tried to clear your name, or if your definition of ‘honor’ wasn’t tainted.

And here he was, a broken, - quite in both senses, - but prideful man, with a dent in his cubical attic, edges chipped, and suffusion cracked. Elder Kettle shook his own head, admonitory, and adjusted the big, loup-y glasses on his spout. “You need to stop being so reckless, Mr. Dice. Give me your vest, it tore up at the seams again.”

Dice pursed his lips. “I can patch it myself, thank you,” he said, sourly; the old toon knew better, though, - that man’s needlework was slattern at best. Elder Kettle emitted a raspy whistle and a puffy cloud of steam, but didn’t argue. Instead, he affixed the bandage on the other’s hand in a simplified bow-knot, and asked,

“What got you into the tussle this time?”

The was a moment of silence, during which he could practically feel Dice boil with disdain, disgust, and rage. “..He said I was... molesting... the kids,” the man finally muttered, voice hateful towards whoever the offender was. Elder Kettle flinched. It must’ve been someone from their isle, he thought, frowning, but he didn’t want to specify.

_..._

“I never intended for the brothers to get in trouble, you know,” suddenly confessed Dice. He was looking down, and his face contorted with something akin to regret. “When I saw them there, I... arranged something. Wanted them to play around at the craps table - enjoy some of that thrill, and earn a good sum for...” The man faltered; Elder Kettle listened attentively, glancing over the thick lenses. “I thought I’d keep an eye on them after that, let them win a pretty penny now and again - you gotta share your riches with others, y’know? But... ‘ _He_ ’ got the wind of it, and before I could do anything... You know the jazz.” Dice looked to the side darkly.

It wasn’t just the boys who got in trouble after the incident - King Dice suffered a considerable damage as well. _He arrived at their porch, badly scratched, with his spiffy lilac tuxedo in tatters. When the old man let him in, he began hollering._

The notion of the former casino manager caring for his cuppies made Elder Kettle warm; literally, as the water inside his copper belly guggled pleasantly. The other man turned slightly pink and fidgeted in his chair, as the kind old kettle pinched his cheek. “People say nasty things, Mr. Dice, and it’s good to protect you honor and the good name of others, but please, be more careful. You wouldn’t want to ruin that handsome face of yours, now would you?” He said with finesse, and Dice chuckled, humorlessly. “See if I care about that anymore, Mr. Kettle.” He still looked somewhat eye-catching - you couldn’t take away that natural charm with a knife, but his appearance was not nearly as flashy. He was rougher now, clothes simple and worn out; his signature mustache was unkempt, and he twiddled with the bristled tip. “I should probably shave it off,” Dice said, as if justifying himself, “but I’d look like a sucker without it.” The old kettle took a gentle hold of his face then, and inspected the downed edges, violet bruises turning dark yellow, and the dour expression that has become softer in his cradle.

 _They kissed that day_ , when Dice finally came back and begged for deliverance. Once; after that the Devil’s lackey (that stigma will stick with him till death) kept a low profile around him. Elder Kettle still remembered.

“Be careful,” he repeated, quietly. “We don’t want to see you perish. I don’t.” Dice closed his eyes and sagged.

“Yes, that would be a waste, after what you did for me... You saved me, no less.” Elder Kettle tilted his head.

“The boys did their best for you. I too, had to draw the sword, and after such a long time...” He was interrupted, softly.

“I was talking about you specifically.”

The younger man’s irises glowed when he opened his eyelids. He wasn’t young, per se; just not as old as his partner. Their eyes met, dark versus light, and King Dice leaned forward. He lingered, - a silent question, an inquiry, the plea, - and Kettle cautiously closed the distance.

It was tender, delicate, yet pulse-fastening. They got so immersed in the kiss, that neither noticed the front door opening.

“ _Ewwww_ , Elder Kettle!!..” King Dice broke off, red and flustered, and stared at the kids resentfully. Cuphead was unperturbed, staring the dice man down with just as much indignation; Mugman was covering his eyes, crimson- like his brother’s short pants.

Elder Kettle, on the other hand, seemed just as collected as before. “What is it, boys?” He asked, calmly, and Cup pouted.

“Gramps, that was sooo yicky! I am scarred for life, honestly.” The child clutched at his chest dramatically, and stomped for emphasis. “Anyway! That flower neighbor of ours wanted to pass you this bag.” And he handed them a craft paper package, rolled at the top. Dice was still blinking heavily, dazed out of his mind, so Elder Kettle took it himself.

“Thank you, Cuphead. Mugman,” He nodded, dismissing them. The blue-clad boy was peeking through the gloved fingers now. The other rascal huffed, and dragged his chum back outside. The door slammed shut behind them, and silence set in.

The dust particles, little villi, danced in the ray of light that seeped through the small, round, glass-stained window. Dice let out a long sigh and lowered his head; it clanked against the metal surface of the old kettle. The elderly himself patted the “three” side of the other’s cube. “It’s alright, Mr. Dice, love,” he uttered warmly, and traced his finger around the faded dark circle at the bottom. “Black color suits you well, by the way.” Dice chuckled.

“I never liked purple, actually.” Elder Kettle caressed a blunt corner.

“Ah, really? What color do you fancy, then?”

Dice hummed, dizzy from the affection he was bestowed with. “..Brown, Kettle dearest,” he admitted, and laughed nervously. It earned him another brush of grayed mustache against forehead, until Elder Kettle finally withdrew and picked up the bag his boys brought earlier. He gave it to the confused man.

“This is the seeds I asked Mr. Cagney to gather, I believe. For you.” Dice looked into the bag, practically shoving his whole face inside. “I know you’ve been interested in horticulture recently...” When he emerged, Elder Kettle saw that that already wide mouth was stretched from cheek to cheek, making it even more drawn out. 

“I’ll go prepare the garden beds,” the dice man said, appreciatively, and the other toon nodded. King Dice left then, grinning from the barely contained excitement, eyes hazy, with the brown bag clutched in his hand; it seemed like he was walking with a bit of a jump, almost. The old kettle smiled too, and after a moment of hesitation, settled in the chair the other had been occupying. He sank into the foreign warmth, and let his mind drift into the land of Morpheus...

_The old kettle would stick with his Dice darling until the very end, regardless of what the others thought, or said, or did._

He would stick around. While he still could.

 


End file.
